


like roads on a map leading me home

by persephonie



Category: Blood of Zeus (Cartoon)
Genre: Character Development, F/M, Family Fluff, Gen, Platonic Romance, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Romantic Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, friends but more than friends but still just friends????, idk what this is tbh i just wanted more out of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27452911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonie/pseuds/persephonie
Summary: Heron’s brothers teach him the art of wooing.(or:Heron, Alexia, and the ambiguous space between camaraderie and intimacy.)
Relationships: Apollo & Hermes, Heron & Apollo, Heron & Hermes, Heron/Alexia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 77





	like roads on a map leading me home

**1.**

_Make them laugh._

Peace settles with a hush upon Olympus the morning after, brought forth by the goddess Eirene herself. Heron doesn’t recognise her at first; there are so many gods up here that he feels suffocated by his own inferior status. Then just as quickly as Eirene had appeared, she’s gone in a flash so that Heron thinks he’d imagined her.

“The goddess of peace,” Apollo explains. “My half-sister.”

 _Another of his bastards_ , Apollo doesn’t say, but Heron hears it anyway.

For the rest of the morning, he sits in the courtyard unspeaking. There are heroes far greater than him here, and with each growing hour he spends in Olympus, he feels more out of place. Even his newfound mortal friends have had more battle victories to their name. All Heron has going for him is the privilege of being one of Zeus’ many slip-ups; a product of his infidelity. And his existence alone had caused the war on Olympus. (He thinks he understands how Helen of Troy had felt, when all the stories pinned the blame on her, while Paris stood by untarnished.)

“Fear not, brother,” Apollo says, sensing the trouble that stirs in Heron’s mind. “We’ll make a divine hero out of you yet. None of us are born perfect, not even us gods. In fact, I’m certain that we’re the worst of the lot.”

Heron laughs. He knows the god is half-joking, but he feels reassured by his words all the same.

For all that Zeus was, Heron would be lying if he said he did not feel his loss. Zeus had been the last remnant of his family that he’d had. (Or so he’d thought, for here is Apollo making amends for his father, filling in the role of the family Heron had yearned for so long ago.)

“In the meantime,” Apollo continues, casting a self-satisfied smirk at Heron, “why not concentrate on pursuing _other_ matters?”

Heron follows the god’s gaze, and his eyes land on Alexia, the Grand Archon herself. She is surrounded by a number of goddesses—one of whom Heron recognises as Demeter—gathering flowers in the fields by the throne room. Clad in the blue peplos she’d worn the evening before, Heron is momentarily struck by her beauty. He’d only ever seen her in full armour, with nothing but her eyes as a means of connection. Now in the pale sunrise, Heron takes in the rest of her: her supple figure, her loose, unbraided hair that he now notices is not yellow, but really golden-coloured. ( _How hadn’t he noticed before?_ )

Seeing Alexia bathed in the brilliant light, set amid the lush greenery of Olympus, Heron thinks that, well, it’s _quite_ the view.

As though she can feel his eyes on her, Alexia turns to face him. She smiles at him briefly before making a face as the goddesses pull at her to move along. Heron grins, rolling his eyes to the direction of Apollo, silently conveying his own tedium. He adds a mock yawn for effect. Alexia breaks into a soft laughter, and Heron stares in awe, thinking it’s the sound that stars make when a god gently shakes the night sky.

Next to him, Apollo lets out a whistle. “So, she is capable of laughing.”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen it.”

“Congratulations, brother,” Apollo says, genuinely impressed. “It’s the first I’ve seen of it, too. The Amazons are quite known for being cold, unsmiling creatures.”

“Really?”

“Take their ancestor, for example.” Apollo tilts his head to the throne room, where they both find Ares standing alone by Hera’s empty chair. “Never could crack a laugh out of that one myself.”

Heron had heard the stories of where the Amazons had come from; that the first of them had emerged from the seed of Ares himself, and as she claimed Themiscyra as her home, the island grew with her. He supposes that the god of war takes this as a particularly huge leap of victory in his book, to have borne an entire race of fighters as ruthless as him.

The thought puts Alexia further out of Heron’s league. To be a bastard of Zeus is not uncommon, especially a mortal bastard like himself. Alexia was born into an elite race of warriors, which means that she had been remarkable since her birth. It is not a comfort to know that Heron perhaps has a better chance of taming Cerberus than he does of winning her favour.

“You needn’t be a god to excel at love.” Apollo smirks at Heron. “A little laughter goes a long way, brother. Keep that in mind.”

**2.**

_Give them a compliment._

“You’re quite the fighter, Heron.”

Hermes unfastens his helmet, letting his thin braid shake loose. He looks as energetic as ever, as though he hadn’t just engaged in combat for three long hours with his brothers. Apollo pulls up next to him in his chariot, and now with more than one tireless god towering over him, Heron feels twice as small and a tenfold weaker. He lets his body fall to the ground, savouring the heat of the high noon.

“Tired already?” Apollo teases. He loosens the yoke on his horses and they ease themselves at his touch. “I’m up for another round if you are.”

“Just a minute.” Heron closes his eyes. “The sun is nice out today.”

“I’ll take that compliment, thank you.” Apollo sweeps his hair back from his face and notices a figure lurking in the distance, hovering just at the entrance of the arena. “Ah, Grand Archon Alexia. We’re doing a bit of light sparring. Would you care to join us?”

“It’s just Alexia,” she says, her eyes soft but her voice not without an edge. She approaches them and glances down at Heron. In her armour, she nearly blocks out the whole sun, but Heron finds that he doesn’t mind. “If you’re not too worn out, I’d like to have a go.”

“Great.” Heron smiles. “We can be partners.”

Alexia doesn’t smile back; instead, she raises a skeptical brow. “Two gods against us mortals? That doesn’t seem fair.” She turns to face the gods, and they exchange a furtive glance. “I choose Apollo.”

Two hours later, Hermes proves to be a better partner than Apollo, but Heron isn’t about to tell their brother that. They devise a strategy that involves tricking the god of truth and prophecy, and outfighting an Amazon warrior.

It’s a little absurd, and at first Heron doubts they would succeed, but Hermes is as quick-witted as he is quick on his feet. Meanwhile, Heron’s strength in buried within himself, so together—mind and soul—they triumph over their opponents’ outward force.

“I’m sorry I doubted y— _us_ before,” Heron says, after they’d won a second time. “We make a really good team.”

Hermes nods at his brother, his bright eyes glinting with pride. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

Like himself, Heron notes that Alexia doesn’t take losing very well. After their first defeat, she’d flung her helmet and sword across the arena so forcefully that they dug a cleft through the ground. Then she’d swivelled round on her heels and shouted, with all the force of her body, “Again!”

In their fifth and final fight, Alexia and Apollo claim their third victory. Their plan was even more insane than Heron’s and Hermes’; the risk was higher, and Alexia does not emerge from it unscathed. Heron almost calls it quits, until he learns it had been _her_ plan to throw herself into the dogfight without a shield (an element of surprise, she’d said, and _gods_ , was Heron surprised). Apollo had attempted to convince her against it, but she’d stood her ground and _insisted_ they do it her way.

As she’s tending to her wounds, Heron goes to pick up her shield. He lays it down by her feet like a white flag, a sign of truce. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe.” Alexia grins. “But I won.”

“You…” Heron trails off. He shakes his head.

She’s sure he’s going to say something along the lines of _You’re a good fighter_ , or _You’re strong_ , which is what everyone she meets tells her, because it’s her birthright, because she _knows_. So naturally, nothing could have prepared her for what he says next.

“You have the courage of your convictions.” Heron smiles at her earnestly. “You seem to really know who you are. I admire that.”

“Oh, well,” she says quietly, taken aback, “thank you.”

**3.**

_When they open up to you, listen._

It’s a rare sight when the god of war speaks to anyone at all. The only company he really seems to tolerate is Athena, and even then they don’t seem all that enthusiastic in each other’s company. So it’s a little jarring for Heron to find Ares and Alexia—of all the inhabitants of Olympus—in the deepest of conversations, in the middle of the courtyard garden.

Heron is wary of Ares ever since the war, and avoided him whenever he could. He had fought on Hera’s side, which means the side of the Demons _and_ the Giants, which also means, by the simple laws of cause and effect, he’d had a hand in Zeus’ demise.

Plus, Heron kind of hates the way he’s sullen all the time, and how he seems to have a smug expression perpetually fixed on his face that suggests he dislikes everyone he meets. (Later, Heron learns from Apollo that it’s actually the other way around; that everyone dislikes _him_ , especially Zeus, who’d rejected him from the very beginning, and so Ares had this thirst to quench, this desperate yearning for his father’s respect, and then Heron feels just a _little_ bit guilty.)

When they’re done, Ares nods curtly and turns to leave. Alexia finds Heron loitering near the main columns of the courtyard, and she brightens up as he makes his way toward her.

“That looked intense,” Heron says offhandedly, but his curiosity burned within. “What did he want?”

“He was inquiring about the Amazons,” Alexia says, “my people. And also… his people.”

She takes a deep breath, and Heron waits for her to speak. They’re walking out of the courtyard, past the throne room and toward the fields. The sun is setting to the west of them, and many of the gods have retired to their respective palaces. In the quiet evening, Olympus seems a hundred times bigger than it already is.

When they reach the fields, the first of the stars have come to greet them. Heron feels at ease with his feet planted in the grass; as terrible as his life had been back in the polis, he misses the dirt and grime of it. He has no place in his heart for the lavishness that is Olympus. He glances at Alexia and sees that she enjoys the feel of the soil beneath her feet, too.

“Do you miss your home?” Heron asks when the silence between them has grown too thick.

“Sometimes.” Alexia ponders the question. She hasn’t thought about her island for a long time, not since her hunt for the Demons began, and that had been a large part of her life. Her _purpose_. “I haven’t returned to Themiscyra in almost ten years.”

Heron doesn’t hide his surprise. He tries to picture himself, a hapless child, being away from his mother—his world, all he had known—for that long and he just can’t. He thinks Alexia is stronger than he will ever be.

“I was sent to Chiron as soon as I was old enough.” Alexia smiles poignantly into the distance as she thinks about that old centaur, and his unyielding degree of patience with her. She was not an easy child. “Taught me everything I knew.”

“And… your parents?”

“Slain in battle,” she says, stoic. She thinks about her the visions she’d seen on her journey through the Fields of the Dead, the ghosts that had cried for her and begged her to turn around. She thinks about how easily she’d pierced her sword through the phantasm of her father, without so much as a flinch. “Together.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Heron doesn’t meet her eyes, curses himself for asking. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

Alexia shakes her head. “It was long ago. And their troop ended up winning the war, so it wasn’t in vain.” She notices the uneasiness in his eyes. “It’s our duty as Amazons to serve in the wars, it’s what we were born to do.”

“Because of your lineage.” Heron presses his lips together tightly. “Because of Ares?”

“We did fight for him long ago, yes,” Alexia says, “but things have changed since his daughters passed. We still send prayers to him, though, and sometimes he chooses to answer them.”

By the end of their evening walk in the fields, Heron has learned a bit more than he’d previously known about the place she’d come from. He learns about the Second Ruling in their home island of Themiscyra; that after Ares’ daughters had passed, the new queens who took over had shifted their way of life almost drastically. The Amazons began to welcome men on their island for more than merely breeding purposes; allowed marriage, families, child-rearing. But the men they bore were never stronger than the women.

“My name, Alexia,” she says, holding her head up proudly, “means ‘defender of men’. It’s not a coincidence that my parents named me so. They’d been told long before, by the Fates, of what was to become of me. They were the ones who led my parents to take me to Chiron.”

Heron thinks back to his own trip to the Fates, and how they’d led him to the labyrinth, to his friends—it was his own choice, and he often questions what would have been different if he’d decided to stay and continue to train with Zeus instead.

“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone to Chiron?” Heron asks. “If you’d stayed home with your parents, I mean.”

“I would have died along with them, I suppose,” Alexia answers plainly. She’s not a philosopher; she’s a fighter, a doer, a woman of action. She doesn’t put all that much thought into _what-if_ s. “I’m glad I didn’t, though. Or I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

Heron beams at her. She smiles warmly back at him, before briskly turning to look at the sky. There’s a harvest moon out tonight; it’s full and unquestionably beautiful. In the milk white light, Heron looks taller, more poised than when she’d first seen him in the polis, fighting side by side against a Demon, not knowing his name yet trusting him immediately.

“Ares offered to train me while I’m here,” she tells him after a stretch of silence. “He wishes to impart his knowledge of battle, so I’ll have something to take with me if—” she hesitates, just for a moment, “when I to return to Themiscyra. And he extends the invitation to you, too.”

“Me? Why?” Heron knits his brows.

Alexia shrugs. “It’s his way of making amends. For Zeus.”

Heron is quiet. The clouds below are thinning so that he can just barely see the polis he’d grown up in, now in ruins. It’s funny, he thinks—it’s been a week since the war; a week since Zeus’ end, yet here in Olympus Heron feels his presence everywhere. So much that he sometimes has to remind himself that Zeus isn’t there, that he’s _gone_ , and that the large, golden statue taking up space near the top of the mountain is just a statue, as much as Heron wants to believe he saw it wink at him that one time.

Zeus _is_ gone, and so is the queen of the gods, and Heron supposes that there’s no reason for Ares to be such a threat to him anymore.

After all, Alexia would be there.

He finally turns to face her, and nods. “I’d like that.”

**4.**

_Be chivalrous._

On the nineteenth day since the war on Olympus, the gods unanimously decide that it hasn’t rained for too long in Greece, so they are forced to declare an early winter. It’s not due to be winter for at least a month, so the natural order of the seasons is interrupted, and they receive a surge in prayers from the people below as their preparations have to be cut short. Hermes is busier during the winter because not many people—or animals—tend to make it through the entire season.

He arrives in Olympus, his winged sandals still flitting wildly as he makes his swift landing, shivering a little in spite of his godly warmth, so that he looks almost like a snowbird. He goes to the arena first, because the way Hestia had designed the arena made it always heated. He finds Apollo near the entrance, watching as Heron and Alexia fight even long after Ares had left them.

Alexia has the upper hand. Though Heron may have inherited the strength of Zeus, he’s yet to become an expert in combat. As soon as Hermes joins them, Heron finally yields, tossing his longsword aside and throwing his hands up in defeat. Alexia shakes the dirt off of her own sword, rich bronze and gleaming against the night sky.

“How many today?” Heron asks. Hermes’ face falls slightly.

“Six,” the god responds solemnly. “They did not suffer, though. In fact, one of them was rather glad for it.”

“Did you chance upon Persephone on your trip to the Underworld?” Apollo asks puckishly, a smirk playing at his lips. A dangerous attempt at lightening the mood. “Does our uncle still send Cerberus to nip at your ankles?”

“No, because I don’t venture any further than where Charon meets me. As I’ve always done.” Hermes glares at his brother, his eyes burning despite the cold evening. The next words comes out through his teeth. “I thought we agreed not to bring that up anymore.”

“Calm down, I’m only teasing.” Apollo turns to face Heron. “If you didn’t yet know, our brother was once, long ago, infatuated with the queen of the Underworld.”

“Very long ago. As were _you_ ,” Hermes shoots back, still glaring daggers at him. His whole being has turned as pale as the moonlight, except for his cheeks, which are getting redder by the second. “Don’t think we’ve all forgotten.”

“Yes, but you were the only one of us to really _do_ anything about it.” Apollo grins. “Besides, I had already encountered Hyacinthus by the time, and you were just… well, blossoming, I suppose.”

“Does chivalry mean nothing to you?” Hermes huffs, annoyed. “Or respect?”

“Does _subtlety_ mean nothing to you?” Apollo is enjoying himself a little too much; Heron and Alexia exchange a nervous glance, thinking about the million possible situations that could happen if the light teasing turned into foul play, and the two gods entered a sudden war right before the mortals. “You might want to take a page out of his book, Heron. His act of love had been so wildly convincing that Demeter had to hide her daughter away for at least a month. Even now, Hades doesn’t let our brother within ten feet of his wife—”

“That’s alright,” Heron says quickly, sensing the rising anger in Hermes. He adds ‘temper’ to the list of things Hermes is quick at. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Oh, do lighten up, brother.” Apollo pats Hermes lightly on the shoulder; Hermes jerks away indignantly. “I was just teaching Heron a thing or two about romantic gestures. I am not Eros, nor do I ever intend to be…” he scrunches his nose in mild disgust, “… but I see now it is not an easy job.”

Hermes rolls his eyes. There’s no real anger within him; only plain irritation for having such a brother as Apollo, constantly digging into his past history, his past _embarrassments_ , enjoying the game of humiliation. “I am going to bed now. It’s been a long night, and you have been just exceptionally unhelpful.”

“Good night, brother,” Apollo calls brightly.

“Good _riddance_.” Hermes vanishes in an instant.

Apollo winks at Heron, nudging him slightly. He nods at Alexia, who looks rather bemused at the whole debacle that just took place. Then, along with his horses and his chariot, Apollo disappears into the night.

It’s an unspoken thing between them, but somehow Heron and Alexia have developed a kind of routine; to walk off their training at the arena, they take the long way to the fields. Across the empty courtyard where the white waterfalls surround them, echoing loudly in the night, then past the throne room, where the two highest chairs are glaringly vacant, and then through the large columns that uncover the fields.

It’s a comfortable routine, it fits snugly like an old favourite glove; the pair of them digging their feet into the warm soil, looking vacantly out at the stars and discussing tragic stories from their childhood.

After a while, a hush falls between them, and Alexia,her face devoid of emotion, though her voice wavers slightly, says, “I have to visit the Fates tomorrow. They’ve called for me.”

Heron studies her intently. He doesn’t really know what it means; doesn’t really know what to say. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” Alexia doesn’t meet his eyes, just keeps her gaze on the sky. “On to the next fight.”

“You’ll do great.” He can’t seem to take his eyes off her at this point; her skin is smooth underneath the pale light of the moon, and her eyes are flecked with amber and gold and brilliance. “Whatever it is you have to do.”

She laughs, finally turning to look at him. “Thanks, Heron.”

“Hey, lovebirds.”

Heron and Alexia turn at once to find Evios at the edge of the throne room that looks out to the field. He’s leaning against one of the larger columns, his arms crossed, and he gives them a sly grin.

“I thought I smelled an old fox,” Alexia says, casting him a dark look.

“Whoa, now, don’t bite.” Evios throws his hands up in mock horror. “Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d finally take a proper tour ’round this place. Really _see_ it, y’know. Didn’t think I’d find you two here,” he smirks at them, “under the stars… out in the open field… _alone_.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, but says nothing. Heron steps in, plays the peacemaker. “It’s nice out tonight. I think Artemis is in a good mood.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Artemis.” Evios’ eyes gleam excitedly in the moonlight. “Say, Heron, d’you think a goddess like Artemis would go for mortals?”

“She’s a virgin goddess, you heathen,” Alexia says.

“I'm _kidding_.”

**5.**

_Find a way to remind them of you._

“So,” Heron says by way of greeting, as Alexia steps out of the Fates’ hall, framed between the ever-growing and dying trees along the path, looking absolutely perfect against the darkening sky, “where to next?”

“Macedonia.” Alexia’s face is as blank as it always is. “There’s something strange going on there; I’ll have to rally my troops from home this time.”

“Strange like… the Demons?”

“Strange like a cursed temple made from the skulls and bones of travellers who used to cross the area.” She looks at Heron stolidly. “This is a personal fight. A son of Ares once ruled there. In fact, he built the very temple. They think—no, I _saw_ —that the new king is bent on adding to the remains of the temple.”

Heron is intrigued, to say the least. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Thank you.” She finally smiles at him and shakes her head. “But it looks like you have a different course set out for you. Don’t worry, we’ll cross paths again soon enough.”

“Of course.” Heron nods. Something within him shrivels up. Maybe it’s the cold weather. “When do you leave?”

“First thing tomorrow.” Alexia takes a deep breath, finally meeting his eyes, “I—well, I want to say that I’m deeply grateful to have met you, Heron. Know that I won’t take your trust for granted.”

“And I, you,” is all Heron manages. Training with Ares wasn’t as exhausting as it normally is today, yet he feels his knees giving way.

The sky is clear in the morning. His friends and brothers are all gathered in the courtyard, where a hippogriff is scurrying quietly around the area. They turn to see him as he makes his way toward them, but his eyes only find Alexia, who nods earnestly.

“Got everything?” Heron asks her.

“Yeah. Oh, wait.” She picks up something from the ground and hands it to him. It’s poorly wrapped in blue cloth, and it takes him a second to realise that it’s her blue peplos; the one she’d worn after the war had ended. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Here.”

He unwraps the cloth and nearly drops the thing out of sheer surprise. It’s a sword; no, not just a sword, it’s _her_ sword, bronze and bright and beaming in the winter sun. His hands are shaking as he holds it out in front of him. “Alexia… I can’t have this.”

“You can, and you will,” she says, her voice rigid. “I’d like you to have her. I think you’ve proven yourself enough to all of us—to _me_ —to deserve her.” She smiles softly at him. “She’s yours, Heron.”

“ _She_ , huh?” Heron raises a quizzical brow.

“Yes,” she says primly, “and she already has a name, so don’t even think about it. It’s Alika.”

He smiles. _Protector of men._ “Thank you. I’ll use her well.”

“Good,” she murmurs. “So.”

“Well,” Heron says. His voice sounds strangely far away. (Somewhere behind him, he hears Evios’ filling the air, _Get a room, you two!_ )

“Until we meet again.”

“Good luck,” he calls, and she nods at him once before climbing onto the back of the hippogriff. His fingers unwittingly tighten around the hilt of the sword as he watches her gold hair softening into the sky below.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay tbh I’m not really big on any pairings as of yet, but it seems obvious enough to me that the show is pushing these two together. I like to think of them as a version of Diana/Steve Trevor, because of the whole Amazon thing. I've seen someone suggest that they’re this universe’s Percy/Annabeth, and I think that’s pretty cool too.
> 
> Either way, I guess ultimately this fic was my way of getting more Alexia content because I adore her despite the VERY little we got of her character. Oh, well.
> 
> Also, since the show gave Alexia a father (???) I decided to retcon the original mythos where all the Amazons are daughters of Ares, and made her a descendant of him instead.
> 
> Title is from [“No Turning Back” by Joy Oladokun.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDopSwQJjVQ)


End file.
